


Stupid Fucking Glasses

by jollllly



Category: Elite (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Polo-centric, Post-Season/Series 01, Suicidal Thoughts, i'm not over the fact that polo used to wear glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-10-01 19:37:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20382478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jollllly/pseuds/jollllly
Summary: "Polo had begun wearing his glasses again, something that had not been seen in over a year. This was the first hint that something was off. He had always felt as though his glasses made him look juvenile, so the replacement with contacts gave him a more sophisticated and professional outward appearance. Polo had not gone a day since he received his prescription without them… until now. Now he wore glasses almost daily."After Marina's death, Polo seems to deteriorate. Physically, socially, and emotionally, he has shut down. One day, he reaches a breaking point. Christian responds to his cry for help.





	Stupid Fucking Glasses

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this post](https://biconpolo.tumblr.com/post/181228642326/okay-next-question-does-polo-wear-contacts-or) and its replies
> 
> tw: suicide mention, suicidal thoughts, murder mention

Polo had begun wearing his glasses again, something that had not been seen in over a year. This was the first hint that something was off. He had always felt as though his glasses made him look juvenile, so the replacement with contacts gave him a more sophisticated and professional outward appearance. Polo had not gone a day since he received his prescription without them… until now. Now he wore glasses almost daily.

It was a steady decline, not immediate or sudden, but after the first day he left the house in glasses, it just seemed easier for him to continue the trend. Some days he looked better than others. On those days he would smile, and it would almost reach his eyes. He was like a hermit over the summer holiday, only making appearances when his mothers or best friends needed him. One could chalk this all up to symptoms of depression relating to the loss of Marina. God knows he and Guzmán had been friends since childhood, so it made sense for him to grieve her loss to a similar extent.

From an outsider’s perspective, Polo’s life had been going downhill, and he seemed to be stuck in a negative spiral. His four-year relationship with his girlfriend ended, and she gave off the appearance of having no trouble bouncing back. His best friend’s sister had been murdered by his (friend?, ex-friend?, classmate?, ex’s new boyfriend?, something else?)’s best friend. It was a clusterfuck. An outsider would say: “No wonder Polo hasn’t put much effort in his appearance lately.” But the truth is far worse than that.

Polo no longer seemed to care about anything. It was hard for him to get out of bed, and he hated the sight of himself. Anytime he looked in the mirror he saw memories of himself sobbing, covered in Marina’s blood. It was enough to make him want to shatter every reflection he encountered. His eyes were dull, no longer the sparkling blue they used to be. His hair grew longer, and he didn’t seem to care. His mothers set up an appointment for him to get it trimmed, and he wouldn’t have gone if it weren’t for the look on his mother’s face when she reminded him the day of, when she said to “please try and leave the house today,” eyebrows drawn in concern and worry for her son. He did, and he made it to the appointment. The following days he was determined to try harder to hide his true mental state for the sake of his mothers and his friends. It’s hard enough to pull through such a traumatic loss without having those around you display zero apparent motivation to recover or even attempt to fight the depression. He tried for Guzmán’s sake. But Polo still found it too tiring.

He still loved his best friend, that was the sick twist. When he spent time with or even saw Guzmán he felt nauseated. Guilt would seep in. ‘I’m a terrible human being. I don’t deserve the love he is extending to me. If he only knew…’ Polo had seen Guzmán’s anger manifested in physical assault before, and there was no doubt in his mind he would be the victim of a far-worse outburst should Guzmán ever find out. Self-preservation alone kept him from confessing.

Well, that and his duty to protect his confidants.

Carla and Polo occasionally crossed paths during their holiday, really only at social events they had been forced to attend by their parents. Their families would not interact more than was necessary at such an event in order to spare their children: a greeting, small talk, and a parting. Carla would check up on him inconspicuously during these interactions, making sure he was maintaining the charade. This would remind Polo to fix his sad, drooping hair and smile a bit more. Of course, these smiles never reached his eyes, but it’s the thought that counts. Every interaction with Carla made his heart feel like it was being squeezed as he was unable to run into her arms and cry, releasing all the frustration and fear pent up inside him. But she wouldn’t have had it. They were no longer together. She had made that perfectly clear.

Sometimes Carla would bring Christian along. On those days Polo would avoid the pair at all costs. It was all too clear to Polo how much Christian resented him, and he didn’t need to see his face and the clear rejection present in his body language. How could Christian have any positive thoughts about Polo when he is the reason his best friend is back in prison, wrongfully convicted? Those thoughts were too painful. Polo stayed away, and his mental state continued in its downward spiral.

By the time the new school year started up the difference in him was quite apparent. Polo’s stuttering appeared more and more frequently, so much that he nearly stopped talking altogether. Guzmán didn’t seem too into talking anymore either, so no one seemed to mind his silence. They set up a memorial to Marina in the main hallway of the school. Polo refused to look at it. Rarely a day went by when Polo showed up to Las Encinas without glasses.

Polo had gotten lazy. He was too tired, too tired to care what people thought, too tired to care if people found out. He couldn’t live with himself anymore. He was a monster, and he couldn’t stand himself.

It was hard. Polo was constantly ready for someone to come into class and announce that he was the murderer. And he wouldn’t have fought. They would find out eventually, and Polo would pay for his crimes. It was only a matter of time.

He rarely paid attention in his classes, and his grades started dropping to nearly failing. Everyone could see that this was not his normal behavior. Principal Muñoz spoke with him about making sure he was taking care of himself and attended the appointments with his therapist. Not that those appointments ever helped, because Polo _couldn’t_ talk about what was _really_ going on.

Seeing Carla and Christian together only made it worse really. They put on a show, Polo knew that, but it still hurt. He could see they weren’t fully there. They were off, Carla’s smile not as bright as it once was, Christian much less disruptive and chaotic than normal. It was Polo’s fault. And still he watched as they sat together, watched as they shared affectionate looks, watched as they kissed.

And then one night it happened: Polo broke. He was at home, his mothers off at yet another event for the rest of the night. He was grateful they were gone; he didn’t know what would come out of his mouth if he had someone to cry to. Today had been no different from the others; it just felt like too much. Maybe it was the way Guzmán had kissed him goodbye when he left school that day. Maybe it was the way Carla and Christian softly looked at each other during lunch. Maybe it was due to him accidentally seeing the memorial of Marina for the first time in a while. Whatever it was, he had hit a breaking point.

When Polo returned home he broke down immediately. Lying face-down on his bed he sobbed, his glasses thrown to the side. He half-heartedly tried to undo his tie, but gave up half-way through. He stayed that way for a while. Time passed, or maybe it didn’t; didn’t matter much to him. He tried to calm his breathing. His head was pounding and his throat sore. When his breathing evened out enough, he pulled out his phone. He knew he needed help. He didn’t know who he could turn to. The only ones who knew about his true situation would hate to hear from him, and if he confided in anyone else they would tell the police, putting both Carla and Christian in danger for helping him.

He knew it was a bad idea, but he didn’t care what happened to himself. If they refused to acknowledge him, that was that. Polo wiped the tears from his eyes, and returned his glasses to his face once again. He opened his phone to his group chat with Carla and Christian, unused since before the breakup. He started recording.

“H-h-hey. I know you don’t wanna hear from me. I’m sorry, but I need help. I-I feel lost, and I think I’m going crazy. I don’t deserve your help. I don’t deserve your love. I’m a monster. B-but everything hurts, and I can’t stand to live like this any longer. It’s all falling apart, and I feel like I’m drowning-“ He broke off, his breathing heavy with tears. Polo regained his voice. “Please.”

The message was sent as he broke down into sobs of anguish as he tried to escape the turmoil in his mind. He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Polo drifted off, resigned to the darkness and apathy overcoming him.

Suddenly he woke to pounding at his front door.

“Open up!”

Christian.

Polo made this way over to the door and hesitated. The anger in Christian’s voice only terrified him more.

“Polo, open this fucking door!”

As if on autopilot he reached for the handle and opened it. The other strode past and rounded on him. He looked like he would have busted down the door if he had been kept waiting a moment longer. Polo shut the door but was unable to meet Christian’s eyes when he turned around.

“You fucking idiot. What do you think you’re doing sending messages like that? Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Huh? Did you even stop to think how Carla would react to a message like that? Do you know what kind of state she was in after she heard your message?”

This caught Polo’s attention, and his eyes snapped to Christian’s. They were fiery, full of anger and… fear. Christian was afraid.

“We were together, thank God, when we got it,” he continued. “Do you have any idea what that sounded like? She thought you were going to kill yourself! She broke down sobbing thinking this was a suicide note. She begged me to go check on you, but she was hysterical, and I couldn’t leave her like that. I have never seen her so torn up; I didn’t know what to do! And now I’m here, so I’m gonna ask again. What. The fuck. Were you thinking?” Christian stared at Polo, breathing heavily. He must’ve sped straight from Carla’s house.

Polo’s eyes had never left Christian’s, and when he heard how his ex-girlfriend had reacted to his message his eyes had begun to sting. That was all he was ever good for. All he ever did was hurt others. Why did he think they were going to be able to save him? He could never be saved. All he could do was hurt people.

Christian stared at him, eyes cold, waiting for an answer.

Polo took a breath. And then another. He tried to respond. He really did. No words came. He looked away.

Christian fumed. “What the fuck did you mean? You don’t deserve our help? What? Did you think you were in this on your own? Are Carla and I not a part of this at all? Have we not sacrificed anything? Does it mean nothing to you that this has been been eating away at us all summer too? You’re not the only one who’s hurting, Polo. Honestly, you’re just a coward. You’re a coward, and I can’t fucking stand what you’re putting us through. And now you act like the burden is _all_ on _you_?? My fucking _best friend_ is in jail for something _you _did.”

“Then why are you here?” Polo had found his voice. “Why do you care? I-I said it before. I don’t deserve your help. I ruined your friend’s life. Why should you forgive me for that? I don’t understand why you haven’t run off to the police yet. P-probably to protect Carla, but you know I wouldn’t hurt her. I would never bring her further into my m-mess.” He took a breath, as if he was steeling himself. “Actually, please, do me a favor. Go to the police _now_. Tell them I did it. Tell-tell them you didn’t know anything until now, b-but the voice message prompted you to come see what I was talking about, and I confessed to you, so you immediately ran off to the police. Then both you and Carla are safe, Nano gets out, and I get what I deserve.” He sounded so defeated, so tired.

“Are you an idiot?” Christian spits out. “Seriously, are you fucking stupid? Why would I do that?”

“Because you hate me and what I’ve done to you.” Some fire returned to Polo’s voice. “So, _please_, just go. I-I won’t mention you; I won’t mention Carla. I’ll say I did it all on my own; I promise you. I just can’t _do_ this anymore.”

“Shut up. Honestly, Polo, just shut the _fuck_ up. Are you for real right now? Okay, yeah. I’m pissed Nano had to take the fall. I’m pissed you got us into this mess. I’m pissed that the system completely fucks over whoever they feel like, especially if the poor sons of bitches can’t pay them off. I’m pissed that I’m worried about you. And I’m pissed that Carla still cares so _fucking_ much about you. But there’s gotta be another way to get him out. There _has_ to be a way. Yeah, it’s terrible, and there are times I hate you for what you’ve done to completely screw my life over. There are times I wish Carla and I could actually work out or even attempt a stable relationship, just the two of us. There are times I really wanna cut the charade, but….” He trailed off, breathing heavy, as if his mind had just caught up to what he was saying.

“But…?” Polo prompted. “Why can’t you turn me in? Why are you here then? Because it sure as hell doesn’t sound like it was really just for Carla’s sake.”

Christian was silent for a moment. His eyes drifted around the room as he searched for an answer. Exhausted, he breathed,“Why can’t I fucking hate you?”

Polo took in a shaky breath. “I murdered my best friend’s sister. What’s wrong with me? What kind of _fucking monster_ can live with himself after he does something like that?” Polo’s legs started to shake, and he dropped down onto the sofa, unable to hold himself up any longer. Tears began to spill. He breathed. “Carla was right. I-I _do_ want to kill myself. W-what’s the point of living knowing I ruined the lives of everyone I care about? I don’t _deserve_ to live after doing that…”

Christian crouched down in front of Polo, and clasped their hands together as tears started to burn his eyes as well. “Fuck… Polo, don’t you dare cry. Stop crying right now, and listen to me, okay? You’re _not_ a monster. You’re wonderful and brilliant and emotional. You love fiercely. And we need you here. I… _I_ need you here.” His eyes glowing with a soft passion fully directed at Polo, urging him to understand. “So don’t you _dare_ say any of those things. Don’t you _dare_kill yourself.”

Polo leaned forward, towards their clasped hands, towards Christian, and leaned his head against the other’s shoulder. “I just wanted us to be together.” Polo continued to sob. “That’s all I wanted. I never tried to hurt Carla. I never tried to hurt _you_. I sure as hell never wanted to hurt Marina. But I f-f-failed. Everything fell to shit, and I _can’t handle_ trying to pick up all the pieces anymore. All I do is hurt people. The world is better off without monsters like me. _You’re_ better off without me, _both_ of you…. A-and what would be the point of living without you?” He trailed off.

“You fucker, you’re not allowed to die, and you’re sure as hell not allowed to turn yourself in,” Christian scolded the young man in front of him, grasping his hands with newfound passion, forcing Polo to lean back so they could meet eyes. “You know what? I don’t _care_ if I’m better off without you! I don’t _care_ that you made terrible mistakes! What I _do_ care about is _you_!” He brought his hands up and held Polo’s face, urging Polo to look at him. “So don’t you _dare_ die. Don’t you _dare_ leave me.”

As Polo brought his eyes up to meet Christian’s the latter surged forwards, and captured his lips with his own. When they separated, Christian’s face softened, and his thumbs lightly brushed the other’s cheekbones, lightly bumping the frames on Polo’s face as they wiped his tears away.

“Do you understand what I’m saying now?” His voice gentler than ever before.

Polo stared, stunned, unable to believe what had just happened. The two gazed at each other for a moment.

Suddenly Polo regained his senses and lightly removed Christian’s hands from his face, pulling away. “You can’t do this to Carla. She doesn’t deserve this. Go and be with her. Check up on her; make sure she’s okay. She doesn’t want me; she can’t trust me. It’s no use getting our hopes up.” He sniffled, trying to regain his composure, a fake smile graced the corner of his mouth.

Christian threw his hands up in exasperation, “How many times do I have to call you a fucking idiot? She _loves_ you. This breakup hasn’t just been bad for you. We try, and we do love each other, but there’s always sadness in her eyes. She misses you. We haven’t even had sex in _weeks_. She doesn’t say it, but you’d have to be _blind_ to see how much she misses you. Is that enough proof for you? She’s crazy about you, man,” Christian grabbed Polo’s hands once more, “… and so am I.” He smirked, “Even with your stupid fucking glasses.”

Polo cracked a smile and stared back at him for a moment. “…For real?”

“For real,” Christian responded offering a small, genuine smile.

It was Polo’s turn to crash their mouths together, and he didn’t hold back, for once in his life. The two finally broke away smiling.

“So now you see why you have to keep living. You can’t give up, and you can’t turn yourself in. I don’t know what I’d do with myself without you here.” Christian’s serious tone was not dulled by his joy. “We’re gonna keep going, and we’re gonna get through this. You’re not going to jail. You’re worth more than all the pain and troubles caused by that one disaster of a night.”

Polo looked at their joined hands and rubbed his thumbs along the other’s hands thoughtfully. He finally spoke: “Will you ever be able to forgive me?” A hesitant look in his eyes as he looked at Christian, waiting for his answer.

“Babe, the only way you’re not forgiven is if you don’t come here and kiss me right now,” he smirked before softening for a moment. “You’re safe; we’ve got you. We’ll get through this together.”

Polo nodded, feeling a sense of relief for the first time in months.

“Besides, we _do_ have quite a bit of making up to do.”

Polo smiled back and leaned toward Christian, “Yes, we do.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! feel free to follow me on tumblr @biconpolo for more elite content!


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